Towards Zero
by Nerweniel
Summary: Sequel to "Daughter of a Saint" and "Mother of a Devil"... mother and daughter grow closer and closer towards zero, the point of no return.
1. Letters

Minerva McGonagalll threw down her quill in disgust. She could not write more than she already had. She could not; and this was a strange, new experience to her. She had always had too much in her head to write down, like an over-filled bucket of letters, of words of apology, of words of accusation…  
  
Now her words were just all spent.   
  
As she leant her head on her slender, pale hand, she almost smiled as she noticed the pile of letters, neatly lying on a reserved corner of her desk. But it was a wry smile, and she knew it. How many letters had she written, after all, how many words had she spilt on her daughter?  
  
Thousands.  
  
And how many of them had she sent?  
  
None.  
  
She couldn't do it. Every time, every single time- in the glorious days when she could at least still fool herself and pretend to really plan on sending them- she decided she just couldn't. Sometimes she muttered she hadn't got a right to, sometimes she yelled her daughter did not deserve it. But never did she send one of those now yellowish, folded pieces of parchments to their natural recipient.  
  
With a sigh, almost a groan, Minerva covered her ears with her hands and started reading out loud, again, the words she had for about the thousandth time entrusted to the parchment.  
  
"Belle,  
  
I am sorry. I am so terribly, terribly sorry. I shouldn't have run away, I should not have left you, but I have and what yet can I do? I don't agree with the path of life you have chosen, but it was inevitable and I even understand- I as well have once loved your father. I still do.  
  
But really, Belle, after all those years, I just want to spread my arms and just once hold my daughter tight again. I-"  
  
Here a huge tear stain had made her ink unreadable, but Minerva did not care. She reached out her hand and hesitated. She did not tear the letter into pieces, though. With a sudden tender gesture, her thin finger folded it and added it to the pile. There.  
  
But how many more, she pondered bitterly, letters will I have to add to that pile?  
  
For forty years she had been writing them… for heaven's sake, when she started writing letters to her daughter, the child had probably not even been able to speak, let alone read! But it had helped her. In a way, it really had. Or perhaps it hadn't. Because every letter had taken a bit of her burden away, but had also weighed on her heart almost as happy as the burden had.   
  
As she shook her head, she took one of her large, tartan handkerchiefs and blew her nose.   
  
It was all the same, anyway.  
  
But she burst into tears without even knowing exactly why or what for.  
  
It was not the same.  
  
Only minutes, perhaps hours later, a soft knock on her door made her look up.  
  
"Minerva?"  
  
Despite herself, Minerva McGonagall smiled.  
  
"Come in, Albus."  
  
She loved Albus. She adored Albus. She worshipped Albus with every fibre of her being.   
  
She had loved him since she'd been seventeen. He had come to teach at Hogwarts in her 7th year, and when blue eyes linked with green ones…   
  
She had loved him and he had loved her since that very moment.   
  
Then, Tom had come and she had fallen in love like only a teenager could. Entirely. She had seen the darkness in him, he had been a Slytherin, but she had never given a damn. He was Tom and he was hers. Eighteen had she been when she'd ran away with him. Twenty had she been when she'd ran away from him. She remembered every single moment, every second of those two, wonderful and yet horrible years of glorious madness. She had seen him be corrupted and right when she'd decided, finally, finally gathered the strange to decide to leave him… she had found out the mere fact that had scarred her life forever.  
  
She, Minerva McGonagall, was carrying Lord Voldemort's child under her heart.  
  
And suddenly, she could not run away anymore. She had to stay, she had to give Tom the heir he had hoped for. Her love was already strong enough to grant him that child he'd wanted for so long. Her hate was already strong enough to both leave her child and his father.  
  
Because it would be a he, wouldn't it? A Heir to Lord Voldemort, a Tom junior, a child to inherit his Slytherin slyness and her bright Gryffindor intelligence. Who would inherit his pronounced cheekbones and her green eyes.  
  
And then Bellatrix had came.  
  
The child had inherited his Slytherin slyness and her bright Gryffindor intelligence, his pronounced cheekbones and her green eyes.   
  
But it was only one mere detail that really mattered to him.  
  
It had been a girl.  
  
One, hard slap, right into her face she had received.   
  
One, hard slap had made her make the decision she knew she had to make. 


	2. Nonetheless

In a vain attempt to banish her memories once again from her already too stuffed mind, Minerva raised her voice and repeated  
  
"Come in, Albus."  
  
Her words echoed through her empty room, and then, the door was softly pushed open. As he entered, Minerva could hardly oppress a happy sigh. He was sunshine. He was light. And those thoughts of her proved themselves once more right as he greeted her with a twinkle of his eyes and one of his very typical chuckles. What could she do but smile? It was too late, though. He knew her too well, she remembered as his chuckle was smothered somewhat in the sudden, concerned frown of his brow.   
  
"Hello, my dear." was his usual greeting, but it came out a lot softer than it normally did. His hand covered hers and squeezed it. She felt the so familiar curves and lines of his hand, and all of a sudden, the sob she had been oppressing for what felt like ages couldn't but find its way out.  
  
Minerva bowed her head. Ashamed of her tears she was- as she had always been ashamed- as she had led her life in shame.  
  
But never had he cared about her shame- and perhaps it was that that bothered her the most. He loved her, she knew, and he really, really shouldn't. He was powerful, but on top of it was he good- good like no-one else had been good before him, and she was not.   
  
She had all her life tried to do the right thing, to be a fair, honest, good person like he was- but the truth was she had terribly failed. She had kept the one thing, the one essence of her life a secret.  
  
Even for him.  
  
Yet his arms found their way around her still slender waist once more, and despite herself and her so obvious guilt, she hid herself in his embrace. His beard dried her tears, the soft stroke of his aged hands eased her pain as it always had. With a sigh, she leant her head against his chest. As he slowly tilted up her chin and kissed her, she did not pull back. She was not fooling him, after all, was she?  
  
He knew she'd never marry him.  
  
He must have understood at least that much through all of the long years she'd spent with him…  
  
So she gave her heart that one, small treat and allowed her lips to smile through his soft pecks on her mouth.  
  
Sometimes, yes, sometimes she wondered what would have happened to her, to them, if there had been no Tom Riddle, no Lord Voldemort in their lives. Would she, that unstained, little cheerful Minerva she had once been, then have become Mrs. Albus Dumbledore instead? Would there have been a great marriage feast- with al his friends and her friends and… And would there then have come… children through the years? Little Albus-es and little Minerva's, to slowly grow under her heart to slowly grow under her soft whispers and his tender strokes? And would they then have grown up- would there then have come children to call her grannie… to call him grandpa, children to crawl on her lap, children to come to Hogwarts once, little, black-haired and blue-eyed Gryffindors to care about?  
  
As her green eyes met his blue ones, she knew she would never know. She would never get to know whether that path of life would have been able to bring her more happiness than her path, the path she had chosen, had offered.   
  
Perhaps it wouldn't have.   
  
Perhaps it just wouldn't have.  
  
Perhaps it just was all the same, anyway- perhaps "choices" were just a dream, perhaps "crossroads" were nothing but imagination… perhaps fate was just fate, and perhaps fate's black-haired, green-eyed daughter was just doomed to life a live like she lead- well-respected, prim teacher on the other hand, ex-whore of Voldemort on the other hand.  
  
For wasn't that exactly what she was?  
  
A whore?  
  
It was that thought that made her pull back- that is, pull back the three millimetres she could. Albus refused to release her, and ultimately she gave in and sighed.  
  
"I love you, Minerva. You know I love you?"  
  
She nodded, closed her eyes and leant her head on his chest. Not this again. Not this hell again…  
  
"Yes. I love you too."  
  
"Marry me."  
  
With another, deep sigh, she shook her head, gently removed her arms from her hips and fell down on the couch.  
  
"You know I cannot, Albus."  
  
He sat down next to her and sighed almost equally sadly.  
  
"I know you cannot, Minerva." he almost literally repeated her words, patting her hand in the familiar gesture that made her, again, wonder how much he really knew. He couldn't- he couldn't…  
  
"You don't know…" came her weak reply, and with a slight smile, he shook his aged head.   
  
"No, I don't, Minerva." he slowly, hesitatingly answered.  
  
"I love you nonetheless."  
  
And Minerva gladly cried on the offered shoulder. 


End file.
